Snack

Having thrown my back out again, I was stuck in bed when my wife popped in with a snack—crackers with peanut butter and a classic mom move, “Don’t stay up too late!” she warned, pointing at me like the bedtime police.

I settled in, flicked on a movie about some giant, blood-sucking monster terrorizing a town, and immediately started regretting my life choices. My heart began racing faster than a caffeinated hamster when it started chomping on people.

Sensing my panic, my wife returned, shaking her head, turned off the TV, and tucked me in like I was five years old again. “No more scary stuff,” she said firmly before leaving the room.

A few hours later, I was deep in a dream about cookies–don’t judge–when I felt something biting my fingers. Not a nibble—actual biting.

My eyes snapped open, with my first thought being: the monster’s real.

I squeezed my eyes shut like that would somehow stop whatever was happening. But the biting didn’t stop. Instead, it started to feel a little slobbery.

Summoning all my courage, which isn’t much, I peeked under the bed. There, staring back at me with glowing, beady eyes, was a monster—but not the giant, terrifying kind.

Nope.

It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, with bat wings, pointy little fangs, and the most ridiculous overbite I’d ever seen. It was gnawing on my fingers like they were drumsticks at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Uh … hi?” I said.

The little thing froze mid-bite and looked at me like I was the weird one in this situation. Then, from somewhere in the darkness, a voice boomed:

“Hey! I told you no snacks before bedtime!”

The monster squeaked in terror, dropping my hand. It gave me one last guilty glance, then slunk back into the shadows under my bed, wings drooping like a kid caught breaking curfew.

I sat there, hand still slimy from the monster’s spit, wondering which was scarier: the fact a tiny vampire lives under my bed or the fact that it has a bedtime rule enforcer.